


A Fine Romance (aka: Do Not Pass GO)

by Iwantthatcoat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Biblical References, Gen, M/M, NYC Blackout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 22:39:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19839970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/pseuds/Iwantthatcoat
Summary: Crowley’s inability to wreak havoc in New York City with a blackout causes him to question his purpose. Aziraphale helps him make sense of it all.





	A Fine Romance (aka: Do Not Pass GO)

Crowley returned to the room, exhausted. It had been a difficult day. A very. Difficult. Fucking. Day. And he wanted nothing better than to water his plants and give them each a good, stern talking to. Instead, he was stuck in a tiny Midtown flat, far away from any upstart greenery.

This building used to be a proper dive. The whole neighborhood, actually. Seedy was too kind a word for it. Crowley sighed and flopped on the cheap mattress. It squeaked at him. Well, at least the place wasn’t all that upscale beneath the surface. Maybe the shower was still cold, the water pressure was still nonexistent and the pipes still banged at night. But things change, don’t they? And hardly ever for the worse in this city. Well, he had had that small victory in getting rid of the Big Gulp. 

It was to have been the ideal vantage point for chaos when the lights went out, but instead had afforded a remarkable view of an improvised musical celebration. People were singing in the streets, for Hell’s sake! Not for Hell's sake, of course. No one was doing anything for Hell’s sake anymore, it seemed. Every carefully orchestrated event had a wave of sickening positivity spring up in its wake, and he was questioning the point of even trying. 

No sense being maudlin; he had a job to do, and perhaps he should stop it with the questioning already. Questioning had always got him into trouble, hadn’t it?

There was a time when the Lord had welcomed questions. When the world was still new, as were all the creatures upon it. When, in forming these creatures, it was considered evidence of a strong, valued bond to be helpful enough to ask ‘why?’. Constructive criticism for novel ideas. But then, She had changed. Suddenly, to ask was not to learn, not to provide input, but to defy. And so, in his defiance, he was cast out.

Cast out of Heaven, back when Hell was so small as to have lacked a physical presence entirely. When it was Kur. When all souls, regardless of merit, were delivered to the same cold, dusty place. Then Hades. Then Sheol. Then to the judgment and sanctification of Gehinnom. And now… now that Satan got a promotion for a job well done, there was Hell— with no escape for the condemned.

Crowley had seen the birth of Hell. Had, in fact, helped oversee its adolescence and rising popularity, and now… now he was a sort of estate agent for the place. A recruiter. Of course, the choice to submit to temptation was theirs, always theirs. Still, Hell’s tenants were only there because they died without repenting— seeking out and accepting God’s merciful love and graceful forgiveness. A mortal that had shown proper penance could earn a Get Out of Hell Free card. Crowley wanted one too. But he had no choice. She had not turned Her back on humankind with the same finality She had reserved for him. 

They were even allowed to question! Abraham— _Shall the Judge of all the earth not do justice?_ , Moses— _Lord, why have you brought trouble on this people?,_ Jeremiah— _Why does the way of the wicked prosper?_...they all had a chance for a bit of spirited debate. Even the smaller potatoes, like Habakkuk got his _“Why do You tolerate the treacherous?’_. Maybe, like every sibling feared, Mom was playing favorites, though She must have lost Her patience with even the mortals after Job. No more Ms Nice God.

What choice did he have, then, but to hope for another Luther? To hope for the rise of Universal Reconciliation, when all souls, even fallen angels would be reconciled with God and admitted to Heaven. 

“Happy anniversary!” The familiar voice startled him and Crowley jerked his head up to see the Aziraphale beaming at him from inside the doorway, having cheerfully disregarded its row of locks.

“Angel! What are you— And what do you mean, ‘Happy anniversary,’?”

“The blackout of 1977. Same day, you know. Therefore: Happy anniversary.” 

Crowley rolled over to face him. “Oh. Don't recall if I was involved in that one. That was a busy year. Probably one of ours, though. And given my vague memories of this hotel, I think I was there.” 

“Officially a lightning strike, of course, but Consolidated Edison called it an ‘Act of God’. I must say, I rather think they were mistaken about that… at least in the direct sense, but…. Well then, happy anniversary to _us._ Because I was there as well.” Aziraphale straightened his tie and gave a quick curtsey.

“At an open invitation to looting and rioting? People trapped on subways for hours? Massive theft?” Crowley thought a moment, beginning to recollect how the event unfolded, instead of merely recalling the vague accounts. “Over _1,000_ fires!”

“Only one death, though. The looting was limited to highly insured stores. And I know of at least one aspiring musician who had taken the opportunity to, er, liberate a mixing board from a shop and used it to launch his career the following summer. Oh, and it helped to get Ed Koch elected. I was never all that involved in politics, but he was so adorable.” Aziraphale smiled at the memory. “Plus, the whole ordeal rather unified the city. And you’re also forgetting what happened nine months later.”

“There was a… Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why would th— In the midst of chaos! Who could possibly want to…”

“The midst of chaos is one of the more popular times for humans to seek out physical connection. It’s all love. We are creatures of love.”

Crowley pushed himself up to seated and glared at him from the mattress. “ _You_ are, Angel.”

“And you are as well. Or rather, you are, still. You are, after all, an… angel in a different place… more or less. New job description not withstanding.”

Crowley was silent “And you think I’m… Really?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Yes. Really. And furthermore,” said Aziraphale, his confidence growing, “you could even consider yourself of Earth now, not of… anywhere else.”

Crowley thought for a moment. They never did discuss this, after Armageddon. He had fallen twice...from Heaven and then from Hell. Earth was his new dominion. Which meant… Well, he was still a demon, wasn’t he? For many a millennia now. Or, if he was no longer aligned with Hell, maybe he wasn’t a… But that didn’t make him an angel. Not like Aziraphale. Aziraphale would always be an—

“I fell too, you know.”

“And I had a front row seat,” Crowley said, scornfully. He tried to act as if he was well-aware of that fact, but truthfully, amidst the relief their plan had worked, the point hadn’t exactly sunk in. Gabriel had treated Aziraphale horribly. Heaven had lived up to Crowley’s worst expectations. But Aziraphale…. He looked at Aziraphale, still in his suit and tie, still every bit himself. Aziraphale may have been exiled from heaven, but he was no demon. Crowley stood up, crossed to the window, and looked down at the street below. “What are we, then? We aren’t one of them.” 

“No.”

Crowley frowned.

Aziraphale sighed.

They stood for a moment in the darkness and the quiet, until suddenly a burst of song found its way through the thin windows, as the cast of All Night Strut strut out into the street, breaking the silence with an impromptu performance.

_A fine romance with no kisses  
A fine romance, my friend, this is  
We should be like a couple of hot tomatoes (to-mah-toes, dear)  
But you're as cold as yesterday's mashed po-tah-toes (potatoes)  
A fine romance, you won't nestle  
A fine romance, you won't even wrestle  
You've never mussed the crease in my blue serge pants  
You never take a chance, this is a fine romance_

“I suppose...” Aziraphale said slowly, “that who we are... is what we have always been. Aziraphale and Crowley.”

Crowley moved in closer as the performers began the next song in their repertoire:

_That certain night_  
The night we met  
There was magic abroad in the air 

Aziraphale stepped closer as well.

Aziraphale and Crowley. Together. That sounded right.

“Creatures of love, you say?” asked Crowley.

“In the midst of chaos,” replied Aziraphale.

The lights flickered briefly, then came back on for good as the street filled with cheers.

“Ah, that’s fixed then.”

“Looks like Con Ed got their act together much quicker this time around.”

“How do you feel about a short stay in the city? Perhaps some tea at the Plaza? A bit of Shakespeare in the Park to follow?”

“You’d have to miracle us up some tickets.”

“Nonsense. I’d rather not call attention to ourselves, and it will be accomplished easily enough if we get there early and simply wait in line, just like everyone else. We can have Italian ices while we wait. It promises to be a splendid evening.”

Crowley cocked his head to the side. “If we aren’t ambushed by mosquitoes. I might have been a bit… over-enthusiastic about creating larvae this spring.”


End file.
